Dellromoz found himself sitting on a cot in a cell in the basement of the building, with a scratchy blanket and a lumpy pillow that smelled vaguely of mildew. The watch had left him with a pewter cup of water, and a cedar bucket in the corner to serve as a privy. He tried to focus on the positives; nobody on the watch had expressed an interest in beating him, his cell was dry and appeared to have been cleaned recently, and the scratchy blanket was warm. He had certainly been locked up in worse places.
In fact, someplace worse was almost certainly where he was going to end up after the magistrate read his case. Then it was just a matter of time until the outfit sent someone to stab him or slit his throat. Maybe they’d give him to Leudo? There was a sort of poetry in that; Dell meeting his end at the hands of a monster he was responsible for creating. He hoped Fulcher wasn’t feeling creative when he gave the order. Better to be stabbed and get it over with than be eaten alive by the reanimated corpse of some asshole who was even worse when he was alive.
There were a half dozen cells in the basement of the watchhouse, three on each side of a central hallway, separated by stone walls in between them, with iron bars in the front. Dellromoz could probably squeeze between the bars if he wanted to, but a heavy shackle around his ankle was connected to an enormous iron pin in the wall opposite the cell door with a sturdy chain. At one end of the hallway was a stairwell leading up to the ground floor; and at the other end was a guard station with a desk, a pot-bellied iron stove, and a coat rack. Next to that was the door of a secure room separated from the rest of the basement by a stone wall and a heavy, rectangular oaken door with a serious-looking padlock securing it. Above the stone doorframe was a vent made of wrought iron and glass panes, about as wide as the door, and almost as tall the length of a man’s forearm. It was closed at the moment, and no light showed through from the other side. The watchmen had taken Dellromoz’s belongings in there after they chained him to the wall.
The rest of the cells were unoccupied, as was the guard station. They didn’t seem very worried about Dell getting up to any trouble. He didn’t really blame them, he was amazed by his own recent ineptitude. How could I give them the wrong papers after all I went through to get here?
Dellromoz’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices and tromping boots coming down the stairs from above. A pair of uniformed Watch members walked past his cell, each carrying a box. Dell recognized the glowering, dark-haired woman as the one who had interrupted his interrogation, but the second one was new. He appeared to be half-giant, or just a small giant, his black felt hat nearly brushed the ceiling as he strode past. He had a good-natured smile on his bearded face, and his thick forearms and enormous hands made the rough-hewn wooden box he was carrying look smaller than it was.
They didn’t bother Dellromoz as they went past his cell, seemingly too focused on their current task. He heard the jangle of a key ring, then the door opening and the two carrying their burdens in.
“I just don’t understand!” the woman growled in frustration, “We saw him go in, nobody left the building, how could he have gotten away?”
“He left his costume behind, it would have been easy to miss someone sneaking out in some drab clothes. Nobody really knows what he looks like under that getup, or if he is even really a ‘he.’ There could be anything under there.” The giant rumbled.
“What about some sort of fey? That might explain how he disappeared; we kick in the door, then he skips off into The In-Between, leaving us looking like a bunch of incompetents with our pants around our ankles.” The watchwoman didn’t really sound like she believed her theory, more that she needed something to direct her anger at.
“Or maybe there really is an elderly human man skulking through shadowy back-alleys in his underclothes, wishing desperately he had his boots and rapier back as he tries not to get bitten by rats.” The towering watchman chuckled.
“I’d give a week’s wages to see that, after all the time I spent looking for him the last few days.”
“I’m still disappointed we had to look for him at all. I bet five crowns on him, I was lucky the bookmaker gave me my money back after the Count...” Dell strained his ears, but the watchman seemed hesitant to finish his statement.
“After he decided to act like a spoiled child and pretend the Popinjay robbed him like a common bandit, instead of admitting that he challenged a vagrant in dusty boots and a raggedy hat to a duel and lost? Fuck him. I’d be rooting for the Popinjay to get away if it didn’t make me look like I’m bad at my job.”
“You’ve got to be careful saying things like that, Claudia! Trevallion’s men would flog you if they heard!”
“Probably why I said it in the lockup,” Claudia remarked sardonically, “not that anybody really believes the crazy old man turned bandit after spending the last couple years fighting them. Our esteemed count,” the mockery practically dripped off her words, “should have thought twice before challenging someone who makes their living with a sword and lived into old age. Now let’s get this crap inventoried, Verne. I have other things to do.”
“I’ll sort it and put it up if you do the writing,” Verne offered, “the pens around here are too small for my hands.”
“Deal.”
“One pair of breeches, green, patched, with yellow tassels at the knees.”
“Got it.”
“One pair of well-worn, knee high leather boots, brown.”
“Yep.”
“Three tunics, one yellow, two white.”
Grunted assent.
“Gambeson, knee length, multicolored. Exterior is patchwork of various colors and patterns, interior layer is heavy canvas, with leather patches in the chest area. High collar, large lapels. ”
“Give me a moment to finish writing the description... alright.” Claudia muttered.
“Cavalier hat. Red, faded, with a rooster feather in the hatband, rounded top.”
"Yep."
“Knitted woolen scarf, bright red.”
“Got it.”
“Wool capelet, green.”
“Uh huh.”
“Leather gauntlets, brown, red embroidery around the edge.”
“Got ‘em.”
“Wig, gray, long, tied in a ponytail with a green silk ribbon.”
“Yep.”
“Mask, leather, brown. Would cover the entire head, and the exterior is painted with flesh-colored cosmetics.”
“Tricky boy. Maybe a vampire?” she theorized.
“Nah, they can’t just cover up and go out in the sun, he’d look like he was burning a box of incense sticks inside his clothes. I buy the story that he got burned in a fire. Spectacles, pince nez style, dark glass.”
“Got ‘em.”
“Knitted woolen stockings, 3 pairs, red. Looks like the same yarn as the scarf.”
“Yep. Do you suppose he knits them himself, or does he have a sweetheart somewhere?”
“No idea. Wide leather belt, brown, heavy brass buckle, with attached leather scabbard, also brown.”
“Yep.”
“Small flask of preserving oil.”
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“Yep.”
“Handkerchiefs, five, various colors.”
“Yes.”
“Heavy-bladed butcher knife, oiled wooden handle.”
“Now we’re getting dangerous. Got it.”
“Rapier, with swept hilt. Sharpened along the last quarter of the blade,” there was a swish of a blade moving through the air, “good balance.”
“Got it, you showoff.” Claudia’s voice was thick with derision.
“Is the quartermaster going to end up with this? I might try to buy it off him.”
“It’s too small for you, unless you’re using it to pick your teeth.”
“Everything is too small for me,” Verne grumbled, “unless I want to arm myself with a tree trunk, like some sort of ogre, wearing an ox-hide loincloth and smelling like a barnyard.”
“Yeah, yeah. What else is left? I don’t want to be here all night.”
“A wooden jewelry box containing three hat pins, a brooch, a silver wedding band, and a pair of glass eyes, both blue.”
“You suppose he wears the spectacles to hide that he’s missing an eye? Hiding his blind spot?” Claudia mused.
“Could be. Here’s the really weird one. Brown burlap bag full of bones, could be a whole human skeleton.” Dellromoz blinked in surprise as he heard Verne rummage through the bag, bones clinking against one another. “Couple extra pieces maybe? I’m seeing three femurs in here. No clothing or jewelry.”
“Maybe that’s the sweetheart and he didn’t want to leave her behind?” Claudia offered. “Or it could be some sort of magic?”
“I dunno, could be both, could be neither. The Commander said he’d have Grimsby take a look at them. He’s as close to an expert on creepy magical shit as we’re likely to get.”
They went on for a little while longer, but Dellromoz had been tired from his journey before the emotional toll of his arrest sapped what was left of his energy. Listening to the Watch pick through some fugitive’s luggage, however strange it was, wasn’t enough to keep him awake. Utterly spent and more than a little depressed, he laid down on the cot, pulled the blanket over his shoulders, and passed out.
He stumbled down the cobbled alleyway in the darkness, each hot breath rasping out of his throat. An orange glow lit the skyline behind him, and he could hear the distant shouts as the residents of the slum fought the fire, or tried to save their possessions, or tried to make off with somebody elses’ possessions in the chaos. The night air was cool and damp, and something about that bothered him in a way that was unfamiliar. He was tired now, something in him felt used up or depleted somehow. He coughed, expelling smoke and glowing embers as he collapsed to his knees. Chills ran through him, and he curled into a ball and was wracked with shivers.
Squeeeak.
Dell’s eyes snapped open, but he didn’t move or say anything. A quick glance confirmed he was still alone in his cell, but his intuition was telling him that something strange was going on.
Squeeak, click.
It was a sound of metal against metal, but it wasn’t his cell door. Instead, the noise had come from down the hall. He hadn’t heard any of the watch, the stomp of their heavy boots was hard to miss. As stealthily as he could, Dellromoz slipped off the cot and into a crouching position on the floor, the blanket still over his shoulders. He slowly crept up to the front of the cell, doing his very best not to rattle the chain at his ankle. Fortunately for him, he could hear someone or something was moving things around in the lockup, and the noise of it, while muted, was enough to cover what little sound he made. The chain had just enough length for him to poke the top of his head through the bars and peer down the hallway.
The vent over the top of the lockup door was propped open by a handle on its inside bottom corner, the glass now perpendicular to the wall. A pair of equally-spaced, vertical iron bars divided the opening into three. The door was still shut, its padlock firmly in place. There was an oil lamp lit in the hallway, but it was dark inside the lockup.
There was another sound, and Dell watched as a lumpy, brown burlap bag was pushed through the grate, lowered partially to the floor, and then carefully dropped. He could see a brown leather gauntlet, but nothing else. The person inside was probably standing behind the door, and it was dark in there.
Next came a watchman’s heavy leather coat, rolled up to fit through the bars, though the mysterious thief let it unroll before dropping it to the floor. It was followed by a watchman’s black felt hat, then the faded red hat Dell had heard being inventoried before. Then came the patchwork gambeson, and the well-worn brown boots, the breeches, and a tunic. The thief then slid the butcher knife out, dropping it onto the gambeson to muffle the sound of it hitting the stone floor.
Dellromoz knew this was his chance; he wouldn’t get a better one. He didn’t really have any thing to lose by trying either, if the burglar decided to eliminate him as a witness, at least they’d do it quickly. “Hey! You in there!” he called as quietly as he could, cupping his hand along the side of his mouth in an attempt to keep the sound from traveling up the stairwell.
The quiet sounds of the thief in the lockup moving their spoils stopped abruptly.
“Out here!” Dell hissed.
The brown gauntlet appeared in the opening again, then something moved in the shadows behind it. A pair of faint, misty blue lights appeared for a moment in the darkness, then were gone. “What?” came a whispered reply.
“Take me with you!” Dell called, still doing his best to keep his voice down.
“No! I don’t even know you!” the thief responded.
“Come on! I'm good to have around, I'm a doctor, a surgeon even!” Dell pleaded. "I bet you know somebody who could use some medical treatment, I'll do it for free!"
“I don't have any use for a doctor, no deal.”
“We can go our separate ways after we’re out, just get me out of here!”
“Why would I help some suspicious little person escape from jail? For all I know, you’re in here for cannibalism or something!” the thief whispered back.
“No, I was traveling using counterfeit documents! I’m not some vicious monster!” Dellromoz insisted.
“Still not interested.”
“What about," Dell was scrambling for anything to get him out of his cell, "...all those people?”
"What people?" The wispy blue lights appeared by the vent again.
"The ones who can't afford a private physician from one of those exclusive universites! The ones trying to compound fractures with herbs and good intentions ! All the people I won't be able to treat after Fulcher Goswin kills me!"
“Goswin?” The thief paused. "That gangster down in Drumlummon?"
"Yes. His nasty little cousin got himself poked full of holes, and I couldn't keep enough blood in him to live."
"So he decided to kill you?" It seemed like Dellromoz had gotten his attention.
"It's more complicated than that, I," Dell gritted his teeth, "...I may have made a foolish suggestion afterwards in an attempt to stay on Goswin's good side. I was scared, I was alone, I didn't know what else to do."
"That's unfortunate," the person in the lockup said, sounding sincere.
Suddenly, Dellromoz had an idea. “Well, if you need more motivation, I could start calling for the guards.” he said, this time at normal conversational volume.
“Ssssshhhhhhh!” the thief hissed, their hand gesturing wildly at him to keep his voice down.
“You take me out of here with you, or I start yelling,” Dell whispered, “that’s the deal.”
There was some quiet muttering before individual in the lockup finally relented. “Swear yourself to secrecy. You won't tell anyone about me, ever. Not a thing."
"Deal! I swear!" Dell felt a weight lift off his shoulders.
“Do you have anything in here?” his new companion asked.
“A green canvas pack, with brown leather trim and a bedroll tied on the bottom. It has my books and clothes and things in it. I also had a cloak and a cap.” A moment later, the items in question were passed through the vent, and then carefully dropped onto the coats and other clothes on the floor. It was followed by a larger brown leather pack, also with bedroll, a full coinpurse, then a basket-hilted sword in a plain wooden scabbard, the swept-hilt rapier in its scabbard, and a thick brown leather belt.
Finally, the gauntlet-clad hand reached through the vent and took a sure grip on the outside edge. The other hand appeared, holding a cloth sack that rattled slightly as it moved. The thief passed it through and dropped it. As it landed, it came open, and its contents spilled out: a pile of small bones, like those found in the hand or foot. Before Dellromoz had time to wonder about it, some longer bones, femurs or tibias or some such, were passed through and dropped onto the clothes below. As Dell watched in growing confusion, a pelvis, vertebrae, ribs, and finally a skull joined the growing pile of bones on the floor.
Just before Dell could ask the burglar what they were doing, a skeletal arm slid through the opening and fell to the floor, its hand clad in a brown leather gauntlet embroidered with red thread. Dellromoz’s eyes widened as the second arm joined it, the gauntlet sliding out of the vent and falling to the floor, bones following after it like a comet’s tail.
Confusion gave way to terror as a luminescent mist rose from the pile, and the skeleton assembled itself, bones rising off the floor and flying into position. It shook its head and a pair of faint blue lights ignited in its eye sockets. It turned and regarded Dell, who was shaking in terror, certain that he was about to be torn limb from limb by the undead creature standing before him.
It raised a hand, index finger extended. “Ssshhhhhh! No screaming, you gave me your oath!”